The Small Things
by christiannerd1999
Summary: Anthea has gone missing. Kidnapped. Where has she been taken to? Who took her? And why? How will Mycroft rescue her? Contains Mythea and Sherlolly. Reviews Welcome. Seriously, please send me some reviews.
1. She's Been Taken

The Small Things

Mycroft got out of his car, and approached the door. He rapped on the door smartly with his umbrella handle. A few seconds later, hurried footsteps could be heard from inside, running down the stairs. The door opened to reveal the Molly Hooper, half-hid behind the door and clad in an overly large cream jumper. "Mycroft," she stated, "What are you doing here? You never come to visit." "I've come to see Sherlock about an important matter, Ms. Hooper. Please excuse me," he answered dismissively. Stepping carefully around Molly in his brothers rather small entryway, Mycroft climbed the stairs to the upstairs flat.

Sherlock was clad in his red dressing gown, his back to the door tinkering with something on his cluttered dining table. "What is it now Mycroft? Got another government mess for me to clean up?" Sherlock sighed. "Not this time brother dearest," Mycroft sneered. "This is a much more personal matter," his voice barely softening at the end. Most people would have missed it, but not Sherlock, he knew his brother all too well.

"A personal matter? I doubt you even have any personal matters at all Mycroft. But as you wouldn't be here if you didn't have a problem; and judging by the fact you came at all a large and delicate one, I'm afraid I can't help you. Now" he said, turning around to face Mycroft, "Go away. I have a case."

"No you don't. Not anymore. I've had my men clear your schedule so you could assist me in this matter. They solved it this morning, and the culprit is already in custody at Scotland Yard. As I've previously told you Sherlock, this is a matter of the utmost importance. It cannot wait." "Mycroft," Sherlock yelled, his face livid, "I've told you before; NEVER, EVER, mess with my work! How dare you solve MY case!" "Well if you would listen to me for-" Mycroft began. But before he could continue, he was interrupted by a soft voice.

"Boys! You need to stop yelling, announced the gentle voice of Molly Hooper, who was currently standing right inside the flats main door. "Mycroft," she said, "You need to calm down. It's wrong and is extremely rude of you to change Sherlock schedule without asking him first. Sherlock, please just listen to what he has to say. He came to you for help. He is admitting he needs you. You can't just turn away your own brother when he reaches out to you for help." "I can do what I want Molly. I won't help anyone who interrupts my work," Sherlock snorted.

Molly's eyebrows rose up, and she walked slowly over to him. "So, you're telling me if I interrupted your work, because I needed you, you wouldn't help me because I interrupted your work," Molly questioned. "No," Sherlock said softly, "You're different." "How so," Molly questioned again. "Because I care for you," he quietly said. "And you're telling me," Molly said, "that it's so different for him." "He interrupted my work, Molly," his voice barely above a whisper.

"And you really care so little for your own brother that when he needs you, you'd abandon him," Molly said, her voice confident; she knew she'd got him. "Please Sherlock, help him. For me," she whispered. "Oh Molly," Sherlock sighed, enveloping her into a hug. "For you, I would do anything."

"Are you to done with the domestics? Or shall I come back in about half an hour or so? I'd rather not, as this is most likely a matter of life and death," Mycroft said, in his usual emotionless tone of voice. Sherlock groaned, but he released Molly: he spun dramatically, his robe flaring out behind him. He walked over and sat in his chair, and gestured of his brother to do the same. Mycroft sat the chair, and Molly took up her usual position behind Sherlock's chair; her little pen and paper in hand, ready to take notes on case.

"So, brother dearest," Sherlock began. "What is so important you had to interrupt my work?" "Sherlock," Molly warned. "Fine," he snapped. "Tell me what is so vastly important you came to ME for help?"

"Anthea is missing."


	2. Essential Information

Here's Chapter II. Sorry it took so long to finish.

Reviews welcome!

"Missing? And no one noticed? Surely your men aren't so incompetent that they don't notice when the bosses right-hand woman goes missing," Sherlock scoffed. "That's where the problem is," Mycroft stated. "If it was that simple I wouldn't be here. Whomever took Anthea send a duplicate to fill her position. An exact look alike. No one in the office can tell the difference."

"Except you," Sherlock said, "You noticed."

"Unfortunately not right away," Mycroft admitted. "She's been gone for three days. Her behavior tuned odd, that was the first sign. She became unusually quiet and reserved; I thought something had gone amiss in her personal life. She stopped coming to my office to deliver messages, but began to send notes. But it was the smaller things that confirmed my suspicion. She brings me tea in the afternoon; Anthea puts something in the tea to make it sweet, the imposter does not. She-"

"Stop!" Sherlock commanded. "I understand your suspicions, especially in your line of work. But do you have any concrete proof?

"I do actually. Anthea has a small birthmark on the back of her neck. Right below her shirt collar. I noticed it while reading over her shoulder a few years ago. Her replacement wears her hair in some kind of up-do almost every day. She has no birthmark." Mycroft trailed off.

"So," Sherlock said, drawing out the word. "Your assistant is missing. You haven't sent anyone to search for her, most likely due to the fact you've been threatened not with words but some form of nonverbal communication. You know who has Anthea, and they frighten you: because you know he or she, most likely he, will kill your assistant."

"All correct," Mycroft replied. "The man who took Anthea is an ex-con we put in maximum security prison several years ago named Jake Reed. We received word a few months ago he has escaped. My intel told me he arrived in London three weeks ago, and two days ago I found one of my men dead in an alley in central London, with Jake's initials carved into his back, and I know now it was he who took Anthea. Now, I ask you once again, please," Mycroft said, forcing out the next words. "Help me."

"The only thing I do not understand is why you're here. You have your men, you have all the information, you know the perpetrator of the crime. So why do you need my help?" Sherlock asked.

"This is a sensitive matter. I need your help to make certain no mistakes are made. Now, will you help me?" Mycroft said forcefully.

"I will," Sherlock stated, as he rose from his chair. He picked up his violin and began to pluck at the strings. After a few minutes of silence he said, "Leave me."

"He won't help until he's ready too," Molly said as she rose from her seat. "But we'll call you the minute he has something. We will get her back Mycroft."

"Thank you Ms. Hooper. Sherlock," Mycroft said, " I expect to hear from you soon." He walked over to the door, and descended to the door and walked onto the street.

"He's really worried Sherlock," Molly said, walking over to stand behind him.

"I know." Sherlock mumbled.

"Please Sherlock," Molly whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Find her."

"I will," he promised.


	3. The First Time

Mycroft turned the cover on the file, closing it. "Third time through, still nothing," he said, his voice echoing around the empty room. He put his head in his hands. After all day in the office, and staying after hours to look at Jake Reed's file, he still had nothing.

His head met the surface of the desk and his hands came up to the back of his neck, and his thought fled to their favorite topic, Anthea. Tonight's selected mental torture was served the in the form of last memories; the last time he saw her, spoke to her, and held her. He could remember that night more clearly than he could anything in his entire life. He had taken her to her favorite Greek restaurant in Southwest London; a place with a name even he couldn't pronounce. There they went even considering that he didn't really care for Greek food; it was her favorite, and he would do anything to see her smile.

***flashback***

The car came to a stop, and he was outside rounding the car a few seconds later, swinging his favorite umbrella as he went. He opened up her door, and offered her his hand to step out.

"My favorite restaurant Sir, what a nice surprise," Anthea said, smiling up at him as she took his hand and stepped out of the car. "Is there a special occasion Sir? There's nothing scheduled on the calendar for tonight."

"These last few days at the office have been busy," Mycroft said as they walked through the front doors of the restaurant. "I think we both need a few hours off, don't you?"

"I agree completely Sir," Anthea said with a smile.

The evening began with the arrival of the waiter and being shown to their table, the whirl of ordering the food and drinks; he ordered a lobster dish and she ordered a lamb Euro with a bottle of wine to share.

After food was finished and the plates were whisked away, small talk was made until Mycroft voiced the question that was on both their minds. "So how do you suggest we progress with the Reed case?" Mycroft asked, studying the glass of wine in his hand as the liquid swirled slowly around the glass. "We barely succeeded in capturing him last time; and he's more clever than I would like to admit. And I'm afraid we won't be as lucky this time."

"I haven't the faintest idea Sir," Anthea admitted. "But we need to proceed quickly, before Reed does something to endanger the general population. We had twelve bodies so mutilated they were unrecognizable before we arrested him last time, and three more showed up in the following weeks. I'm afraid the count may be higher this time if we don't act soon.

"Unfortunately, I agree," he said with a sad smile. "Most criminals become enraged when you arrest them, they have to be tackled or shot for our men to even get close. But not Reed. I was there when they arrested him." He shifted his weight in the chair to be look her straight in the face. His eyes got that far away look, the one where someone brings something buried deep in their memory right to the front of their mind.

"When we found him, he was just standing there, surrounded by body parts and covered in blood. His knife was so bloody you couldn't tell it was any other colour than red. And he was just smiling; this grin just full of joy and pride at the destruction he caused. And when we broke down the door and stormed the room, he just dropped the knife and put up his hands. He just _gave_ up; or surrendered would probably be a better word. When we had cuffed him, right before they took him out of the room, he looked at me and said, " We're going to have such fun, aren't we?" The he just laughed; this crazed, insane laughter. I still hear it in my dreams some times."  
>"Out of all criminals, the worst ones are the clever one," Mycroft sighed. "The most dangerous ones who can escape from prison. They're experts and playing the system and beating it, escaping it, controlling it. But they're also the best at disappearing into the shadows."<p>

Anthea was speechless. She had read the file, knew all the details about the case. But nothing prepared her for her Boss' account of the story. She looked at the table; she wanted to comfort her boss, but had no idea how or where to start. "I'm..I'm sorry Sir," she whispered.

"It's history know Anthea. What we need to focus on now is making sure this doesn't happen again," Mycroft reassured her. "We know more this time. We can stop him." He raised his hand to call for the check. He paid and they gathered their things and ran through the rain to the safety of their car.

Mycroft gave the order for his driver to take Anthea home, and the car drove off through the maze of wet London streets. The ride was silent, except for the sound of the rain hitting the roof and tires on the pavement filled the small space. Mycroft picked up his phone and began to work on a file for the office. A few minutes later a small sniffle sounded on Mycroft's right. He turned to look at Anthea. Her shoulders were shaking and her eyes were glassy with tears.

"Anthea?" Mycroft said, his attention completely on her. "What's wrong?"

She didn't respond. She lifted her chin and turned towards the window. A tear rolled down her face.

"Anthea," Mycroft said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me."

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip. Another tear rolled down her face.

"Please," he whispered.

"I'm afraid," she said, her voice cracking. A third tear ran down her face. "With Moriarty, he targeted Sherlock; and Sherlock stopped him, just like we knew he would. But you led the team that arrested Reed, and he escaped. He'll target you. I don't want to lose you. I know you can stop him, but I'm terrified of what it will cost to get to that point." The tears flowed in earnest now. She buried her face in her hands.

Mycroft didn't know what to do. He wasn't good with emotions; but Anthea needed him. They both wore masks; they both suppressed their emotions, and her masked had cracked straight down the middle. He decided not to say anything, but he wordlessly put his arms around her and pulled her to him. She fisted his shirt in her hands, and her tears soaked trough his shirt. But she cried silently, her shoulders shook, but no noise escaped her mouth. He kissed the top of her head, and held her tight.

The driver pulled up outside her door. When the car stopped she let go and pulled out of his embrace. "Sorry," she croaked. She wiped her face in attempt to clear away the black streaks that ran down her face. She avoided his eyes and grabbed her coat.

"Anthea," Mycroft began. But she was out the door and across the road before he could utter a second word.


	4. The Discovery

Chapter Four!

More Chapters soon to follow!

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Mycroft scrolled down his contact list and selected the name he was searching for. He pressed the call button and brought the phone up to his ear. The recipient of the call answered after the third ring.

"What?!" Sherlock's exasperated voice sounded through the phone. "I'm going over the file you sent me. I can't deduce anything about this case if you keep bothering me!"

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, I called because I need to go look over the warehouse Reed used as his hideout before he got arrested, and I want you to come with me. Two sets of eyes are better than one."

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled. "Text me the address. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes."

"Bring a flashlight," Mycroft said. He pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the disconnect button. He opened up the text messaging and forwarded the address. He checked the time. He needed to leave now if he was going to be there in twenty minutes.

He got up from his desk, donned his coat and picked up his favorite and ever present umbrella. He opened his door and walked down the brightly lit hallway to the front door of his office building. About half way down the hallway was Anthea's office, but it was dark and quiet. Her double had called in sick this morning, and hadn't come at all today.

He stopped at her door for a moment and looked at her books on her shelf and her pens on her desk. A sudden feeling of nostalgia over took him; a sudden longing for days past. Days when things were hectic and busy but when the people Mycroft cared about were safe by his side, or as safe as they could be. He rested his head against the doorway, closing his eyes he breathed, "I will find you." The sound echoed around the empty room, seeping into the dark walls as the silence that filled the room moments ago returned.

Exiting the doorway he completed his walk to the front door. Once outside he hailed a cab; and after giving the cabbie his address he set out on his way.

Mycroft arrived at his destination to find Sherlock typing angrily into his phone across the street. As he exited the cab his phone sounded with an incoming message. He pulled said phone out of his pocket and glanced down at the message. 'If you haven't arrived in thirty seconds I'm leaving. -SH'. Sherlock looked up at the slam of the cab door and his eyes followed it down the street.

As Mycroft crossed the street, Sherlock's prism eyes snapped back to his face. When he reached the opposite sidewalk Sherlock's voice reached his ears "You've been up all night studying the file. Learn anything new, brother?"

"Not this time. That's why I had you meet me here. My men found nothing the last time they were here. But I have, a gut feeling, if you will; that we will find something. Even my men are somewhat incompetent compared to you and I, and I know we will find something here they missed."

"Fair point," Sherlock said "Let's get this done." He moved to open the gate of the fence surrounding the big grey building. They walked through the gate and the building loomed even bigger inside the fence. The building was two levels and about the length of an American "football" field. The facade of the building looked like a puzzle completed with pieces from different pictures; the walls were different shades of grey and cemented together in odd places. The building had many windows, but most of them were broken or had no glass in them at all. The gate had rusted all the way through, and emitted a ear splitting shriek when it was opened. The gate scraped against the ground, and part of the metal bar on the bottom clattered to the ground.

"Not my choice for a hideout," Sherlock muttered, brushing the rust flakes off his hands.

"I agree." Mycroft confirmed. "The building is too old and run down for a business to operate out of it, and due to the fact it's still standing one could assume some form criminal activity is conducted inside just by looking at it." They continued their walk to the door closest to them; there were boards loosely put up across the door, which the brothers promptly pulled down. Sherlock shouldered the door, and the latch easily separated from the door. The door promptly hit the wall, and fell on the floor with a loud bang that echoed around a large room completely barren of any furnishings or objects. Two dark hallways led off to other rooms in the back of the building.

"I will go one way, you go the other," Sherlock said striding towards the door in the east wall of the building.

"Fine," Mycroft sighed. Raising his voice, he called to Sherlock, "Text me if you find something."

"Can do, Brother." Sherlock's voice echoed from the hallway.

Shaking his head Mycroft started toward the hallway opposite Sherlock's. The hallway continued for about fifty meters and ended abruptly in a dead end. 'This is odd,' Mycroft thought. 'Why build this hallway if it doesn't go anywhere?' He put his hands on the wall. "It feels like wood," he murmured to himself, barely audible enough for the mice in the walls to hear him. He scratched at the wall, and a coat of grey paint gave away to the boards fitted snugly behind it. He rapped on the boards, and heard the sound echo behind it.

Getting out his phone he sent a text to Sherlock, 'Found a hidden room. Go down the west passage. I'm pressing on.' Pocketing his phone he raised both hands and pressed them against the wall. The wood gave in a little, and a loud crack echoed from several of the boards. Pushing harder, more cracking came from the boards. Mycroft took a step back, and rammed his shoulder against the wooden wall. The loudest crack yet sounded as the boards split in half and gave away to the black hallway behind.

Stumbling back, he massaged his shoulder in an attempt to stop the vibrations traveling from his shoulder down to his fingers. He retrieved his phone once more, and activating his flashlight he set off down the dark passage.

He shined the light down the hallway, it continued a few more meters and took a left turn. Mycroft continued down the hallway and after a few minutes noticed the darkness was starting to lessen. This tunnel again ended suddenly, but this time there was a door in the wall, with bright light shining out underneath it; turning off his flashlight he quickened his pace, and the door grew closer and closer every second. He stopped short of the door, and reached to turn the knob.

A shrill scream sounded, full of pain and terror. The scream was cut short by a loud bang. A gun.

Mycroft tore open the door and flew down the set of stairs the door revealed. The stairs ended in a small square room, dimly lit and dirty.

A sharp iron scent reached the Mycroft's nose. Blood.

He looked down; and there in the middle of the floor, laying an a slowly growing pool of blood, was Anthea.


End file.
